


our own thing

by djhedy



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Cuddles, Cute, Depression, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, POV Andrew Minyard, Soft Andrew Minyard, Yorkshire puddings, and my christmas hangups, andrew is a cutie, at the beginning, but honestly that's just me, but the rest is fluffy, enjoy, i dunno what else to say, literally this is all it is, oh yeah it's a bit, sorry - Freeform, they do their own thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:27:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21825931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/djhedy/pseuds/djhedy
Summary: Andrew is buried under the covers, having an argument with himself.-or, Neil is coming home for christmas, and this year they decide to do things a little differently.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 55
Kudos: 558





	our own thing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flintandfuss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flintandfuss/gifts).



> slightly ooc, but couldnt resist soft christmas andrew wanting to make his boyfriend happy.  
> merry christmas flintandfuss, thank you for this gorgeous prompt "their first ever holiday traditions" xxx

Andrew is buried under the covers, having an argument with himself.

He can feel the soft scratch of sheet against his cheek (the pillows ended up on the floor some time ago, offences in the region of being too warm or soft or hard he can’t remember) and is aware he’s glaring at his cat.

Sir looks like she would be raising an eyebrow at him, if she had the capacity to move her eyebrows independently. As it is she just looks supremely unimpressed with the situation.

But at least she’s still. King is above them somewhere, pawing and kneading at the two duvets currently thrown over Andrew’s body.

Andrew glares at Sir, feels the effort of frowning as his face is half turned into the mattress.

_Go away_ , he thinks, and of course she doesn’t listen. Sir has never been one for following directions. King is as pliant and malleable as a puppy on crack, but Sir just raises her metaphorical eyebrow and waits for Andrew to explain himself.

“Go away,” he mutters out loud. Talking to the cats is something he wouldn’t do if anyone were around to hear it, but Neil is thousands of miles away, and he hasn’t spoken to anyone in three days.

Sir just looks back at him, bends her head to sniff at his hand, and then sits down, head still lifted to glare at him judgmentally.

“I am not having a bad day,” Andrew says through clenched teeth. “It is fucking cold.” He opens his eyes. “Do you have any idea how cold it is with all that fur.” He summons the strength to lift a single finger, scratches it through her neck. Sir moves her head so that Andrew is petting the right place, and then moves left and right so that his finger scratches under her chin, side to side.

It is a little mesmerising, and after a while Andrew realises his previously resting heartbeat has increased slightly to match the movement.

He removes his hand.

“I see what you’re doing,” he says, low and unimpressed. “I’m not calling him.”

Andrew turns over, and closes his eyes.

When he wakes up – who knows how long later, his phone was buried under his pillow but he guesses it must now be on the ground – both cats have taken up post next to his head, Sir asleep with one paw near his head, King curled next to his chest.

Andrew sighs. He shifts a little, uncomfortable with having been in bed too long, and it removes Sir from her position.

She squeaks at him, annoyed.

This time it only takes one glare, and a small lick at his nose before Andrew says, “I haven’t had a bad day in months. So this is not one. I am tired, it is cold, and frankly I do not see the point in getting out of bed. I’m not sure why that’s your business.”

Sir licks his thumb, starts cleaning his hand.

Andrew tightens his jaw. He already feels exhausted, and this is the last thing he wants to do, but he knows she’s right.

“Cats are stupid, and worthless,” he says, just to make himself feel better, dislodges them with faint murmurs as he roots a hand around on the ground, finally locating his phone and pulling it into the covers.

It’s late. When did late happen?

He stares at the phone for longer than it takes to click on Neil’s tiny icon on the home screen, and turns it on speaker. He tucks his hand back under his face and hears at least one cat jump back onto the bed, feels needy paws kneading at the covers.

“Andrew,” comes a warm voice. Andrew closes his eyes. “It’s late. What are you up to?”

Andrew wants to shrug, curses technology for not transporting Neil directly in front of him.

When he hasn’t managed to reply, Neil’s voice comes through again a little uncertain, “Andrew?”

Andrew says, “When are you getting here.” He doesn’t quite manage to mask the fact that his voice is croaky from disuse, and now he’s annoyed at himself, annoyed for calling Neil, annoyed that Neil will be worried unnecessarily.

There’s hesitation before Neil says, “Monday, 11am. I texted you. Are you still picking me up?”

Andrew nods. “Yes.”

Neil says, “If I could come any earlier –”

“I know.”

“Andrew… is everything ok?”

Andrew contemplates how to say this. “Yes.”

“When was the last time you spoke to another human being?”

“Practise finished on Tuesday.”

“Andrew, it’s Friday. Have you even left the house?”

Andrew shrugs again.

“What about my Christmas present?”

“Neil. We’ve never exchanged Christmas presents.”

“Well I’ve changed my mind.”

Andrew rolls over onto his back and pulls the cover down a little so it’s tucked under his chin.

“Are you in _bed_?”

“What do you want,” says Andrew, ignoring the question in favour of sitting up a little so he can reach down for the second cat. He lifts King onto his chest, knows that Neil will hear her purring down the phone.

Neil says, “I want a surprise.”

Andrew scoffs. “Good luck getting one.”

“Andrew…” He can hear movement at Neil’s end of the phone, and then tapping on a keyboard. “Maybe I could –”

“No,” says Andrew, firmer, sitting up so that he’s leaning forward, King toppling into his lap, Sir looking up from her position on his feet. “This is not what –” He closes his eyes. “I’m not asking for anything.”

Neil says, “Truth for a truth.”

And Andrew sighs, picks up the phone and turns it off speakerphone, holds it to his ear. “Trouble,” he mumbles, “that’s all you are.”

“Yep.” Neil sounds almost cheerful.

Andrew considers whether it’s worth saying this the only way he can conceive of how to. But it’s Neil. “Sir wanted me to call you.”

“Did she.” Neil’s voice is warm, and amused, and encouraging, and Andrew rolls his eyes.

“She’s a worrywart.”

“That’s true. And what did she want you to tell me?”

“Look, she’s a cat, she can’t judge. Maybe I’m just cold.”

“Are you cold?”

“Neil, it’s December.”

“So? Have you left bed today?”

Andrew shrugs, doesn’t answer, picks his fingers through King’s fur.

Neil hums. “Ok. That’s ok. You know it’s ok to need a day like this sometimes, right?”

Andrew grinds his teeth together. “I –” He shuffles a little down in the bed again. “Haven’t for a while,” is what he manages.

“Yeah,” says Neil. “That’s ok too. I think that’s how this is going to work. I think maybe the ok periods will get longer and longer. When I finally move up there it’ll be sunshine all the way.”

Andrew huffs. “Great,” he says, pitching his voice low, but he pulls his knees up to his chest, cats darting out the way, hugs them and buries his head downwards.

“Andrew,” says Neil, “just tell me to come home earlier.”

Andrew shakes his head. “You’ve got Dan and Matt, and we agreed the 24th.”

“I wish you would have joined us.”

Andrew keeps shaking his head, finds the scratch against his forehead soothing. “Some traditions have got to stick.”

It’s sort of a running joke that Neil and Andrew don’t have any Christmas traditions. They’re never the same. Andrew’s been out of PSU a year and a half now, Neil’s his first semester into a pro team, so they’ve had maybe six Christmases together – Andrew isn’t counting – and half the time they ignore it. Half the time trauma catches up, or it’s too cold, the weight in their chests too heavy; or Nicky and Aaron and Kevin have other plans, and Neil and Andrew just can’t be bothered. Last year was the first year amounting to an attempt at a civil Christmas. Nicky and Erik were visiting Aaron and Katelyn, so Neil and Andrew joined them for two days, but they agreed it was a bit much.

Neil visiting Dan and Matt was Andrew’s suggestion. Something for Neil to have, maybe something to become a tradition. He had wanted Andrew to come, but it just hadn’t felt manageable this year, for some reason. _Next time_ , Andrew had said, a promise he intended to keep when Neil’s voice had warmed considerably.

Christmas, to Andrew, was a fucking joke. It was just like – take everything you don’t like about the year you’ve just had; avoiding too many people, too much socialising, stupid cheesy movies, dumb meaningless commercialisation, over-expectations on polite conversation, an content dump of merriment and joy when the world was covered in a grey, cold film, and…

“Andrew?”

Andrew’s been lost in his head. What he says is, “Christmas is dumb.”

Neil chuckles. “Yeah.” He pauses. “But I’ve been thinking… this is kind of our first Christmas just the two of us, right?”

Andrew lifts his head. “So?”

“So, I dunno. I was just thinking. I’m happy to keep ignoring it forever, if that’s what you want to do,” Andrew feels something tighten in his chest, frowns at King, “but maybe we could just do some of the things we like. Maybe we could have our own thing. I dunno.”

Neil sounds so unsure, so off base, so unenthusiastic like he’s expecting Andrew to say that sounds dumb.

So Andrew says, “Like what?”

“I don’t know. Maybe we can make it up as we go along.”

“Hmm.” They don’t say much after that, content to sit with the other’s breathing, thinking endlessly at each other like _I fucking miss you and I hate it_ , and at one point Neil makes Andrew go get a glass of water, put something in the microwave. He eats with one hand while Neil talks about what he’s been up to with Dan and Matt.

“It’s weird. They have a _baby_.”

“I know,” says Andrew when he’s finished swallowing. “Why do you think I’m not there.”

At some point Andrew says, “Where’s my truth,” like a child demanding candy.

He hears Neil smile through the phone. “I miss you.”

It makes Andrew pause. Feel uncomfortable. “That’s not a secret,” he accuses, annoyed.

But Neil just chuckles. “I wasn’t aware there were rules.”

“You…” Andrew is speechless. _Wasn’t aware._ Like they hadn’t been doing this for how long now. “You are ethically a dumpster fire.”

“Sure,” says Neil, sounding almost cheerful again.

Sometime later, when Andrew is lying down, face against the pillow and phone resting on his other ear, eyelids drooping, Neil’s voice softening, when there’s been a five minute gap in conversation, Neil says, “Andrew – do you want me to come home early?”

Andrew shakes his head, suppresses a small yawn. Mumbles, “No, Josten. How will I shop for your Christmas present.”

He can picture Neil smile, closes his eyes and presses them into his pillow, reaches out a hand to turn off the bedside light. At one point he thinks he hears Neil hang up, but it’s all synonymous with letting go and falling.

He feels better the next day. Feels like he has a purpose now. Neil is coming home in two days and wants – he isn’t sure. Something resembling Christmas, maybe.

Andrew has no idea where to start.

He doesn’t give two shits personally, but he likes action, purpose. Likes the image of Neil’s face lighting up. Wants to kiss a smile from his face.

He puts cat food in the cat bowl, laces up his boots, grabs the coat with the fluffy collar, and heads out to the city.

That evening, curled up with King on her armchair – King’s armchair, the arm is her domain and she lets Andrew join her if head pats are involved – one hand on his cat and the other clutching a pen, he gets to writing it down. For Neil. If he wants. Whatever.

_Step 1. Always meet each other at airport*.  
(*or train station, bus stop, ferry port, teleportation device, etc.)_

Andrew stands outside the airport, a little stubborn, smoking in the very small smokers circle with two other heroes, avoiding eye-contact and pretending they’re not waiting for people.

Neil comes out of the main terminal, like they’d agreed, and looks immediately to the smokers area for Andrew.

Andrew draws out a final breath from the cigarette, crushes it into the bin, and meets Neil half-way.

Neil smiles, and Andrew hands him a small card.

Neil lets go of the handle of his suitcase, so Andrew takes it while Neil unfolds the card. He reads, “Step 1. Always meet each other at airport.” He reads the rest in his head, smiles, and looks at Andrew with a stupid look on his face. “What is this?”

Andrew shrugs. “Our own thing.”

For a second he feels uncomfortable, annoyed, maybe he got this wrong somehow, suddenly and intensely remembers why he hates Neil – but then Neil is moving his stupid face towards Andrew’s, and Andrew closes his eyes and lets himself be kissed, lets Neil grab his hand, remembers he’s the one who knows where the car is, squeezes Neil’s hand back and hauls his two items of luggage towards the car.

_Step 2. Do the grocery shopping together._

“Do you need to get home,” says Andrew, lighting up a second cigarette once they’re at the car, once Neil’s suitcase is in the trunk and he’s had a second kiss and Neil is leaning against the car, and him, stealing his cigarette the second he’s pulled it out of his mouth.

“I’m not in a hurry,” says Neil, smiling around his stolen goods. Andrew takes the cigarette back again, watches Neil blow smoke into the crisp December air. Andrew tugs Neil’s jacket tighter round his shoulder so that it covers his collarbone, holds it with one hand, and smokes with the other. Neil looks amused, burrows one hand in Andrew’s coat pocket. “What did you have in mind?”

Andrew does up the top button of Neil’s coat while Neil takes his second drag of _Andrew’s_ cigarette, and then trades it for a second card. Neil reads while Andrew smokes, and then smirks at him. “Is this just a way of saying you don’t want to have to do the shopping by yourself?”

Andrew shrugs and looks away, feels a little heat in his cheeks, doesn’t know what to say so instead watches the small furl of smoke curling around them. Touches Neil’s arm.

Neil kisses his cheek and stays there to say, “I’m _kidding._ You know I like grocery shopping with you.”

Andrew nods. He hoped – he worried he wouldn’t get it. But it’s their _thing._ They spend too long in every aisle and argue about brands and Neil googles recipes while Andrew dumps stuff in the cart he wouldn’t get away with otherwise. He didn’t want to go without him. It’s their thing.

Andrew tilts Neil’s face to the side, breathes smoke into his mouth, and kisses him.

But this time, Neil doesn’t argue nearly so much. Andrew dumps the sweetest thing he can find in every aisle, holds Neil’s hand while Neil pushes the cart round, Neil babbling away about recipes he’s been trying out lately, pausing occasionally to reference his phone so that he doesn’t have to drop Andrew’s hand.

There’s something intensely relaxing in being in a grocery store on Christmas eve, holding hands with his boyfriend, still and relaxed with nowhere to be, watching families dart around them like they’re expecting Armageddon.

Andrew raises his eyebrow at an old lady trying to reach for a box of something above their heads. Neil notices and gets it down for her. She barely smiles at them before rushing away.

Andrew says, “Saint,” like it’s an insult.

“You wanted her to never leave?” Neil says, not looking up from where he’s scrolling one-handed on his phone.

“Sometimes I feel like _we’ll_ never leave,” says Andrew, enjoying himself.

Neil smirks without looking at him, “Yes yes, I’m just… found it.” He shows the recipe to Andrew, and they have to wander back a few aisles, Andrew taking the phone and calling out ingredients, sometimes slipping in random things to see if Neil will notice – Neil does, if his smile is anything to go by, but he puts it all in anyway.

Their cart is pretty full at the check-out, and the guy ringing up their items smiles and says, “Got family visiting?”

Neil nods solemnly. “Yes. Tonnes.” The four bottles of whiskey beep through and he says, “Uncle Albert is a drinker.” The guy nods but raises an eyebrow at the six-pack of marshmallows. Neil says, “He has seven daughters.” Cashier guy nods again, smile never wavering. Neil wishes him a merry christmas and they walk the stuff to their car.

“Chatty,” says Andrew.

“Maybe we can add it to the list,” Neil says as they pack the random assortment of alcohol, hot chocolate, junk food, carbs, and small smattering of fruit and vegetables into the car. “Good will and all that.”

“I am not adding _charity_ to the list,” says Andrew.

“Bah humbug,” agrees Neil, shutting the trunk.

_Step 3. Christmas tree, or whatever. Lights. Fucking loads of lights._

They manage the load, and the suitcase, up to the apartment in one go, and Andrew pauses outside the door, fumbling in his pocket for his keys. He’s nervous, and he has no idea why.

“Another card?” asks Neil.

Andrew shakes his head. “Keys…”

Neil puts his bags down and fishes his own key out. “Here…” he unlocks the door and pushes it open, stepping through. Andrew waits outside the door, fidgeting. His key in the other pocket. “Andrew…”

Andrew picks up Neil’s bags too, struggles them through the open door and dumps them on the floor, goes back for the suitcase and closes the door behind him.

He knows what Neil’s looking at. He reaches for the card he’d left on the table by the door, exchanges it for his keys, and shoves it into Neil’s hand, moving to carry bags into the kitchen.

Ok so maybe he went a little overboard on the lights. He’s never bought Christmas decorations before.

Andrew had stood in that Christmas decoration store – trying to work out what it sold the rest of the year – and hated almost everything he found. Tiny santa clauses, unnecessarily sized reindeer, noisy singing tacky elves. Fake christmas trees. Tinsel in a _shockingly_ disgusting variety of colours.

But he found tealights, candles, Christmas lights – multi colours or white or yellow. He spent half an hour with narrowed eyes, wishing he’d brought along Sir for consultation, before shoving as many as could fit in his basket.

He’s strung white lights along the tops of every wall, some hanging directly above the yellow lamps that are fitted three quarters of the way up a wall; he bought some very short multi-coloured lights, one of which he hung up above the mantelpiece, above the photo of him and Neil, staring each other down in an airport years ago, sent a picture of it to Nicky who texted back seconds later to say “ _I’m so proud of my gay sons!”_

There are small strings of yellow lights curled around plants, under the kitchen cupboards.

Andrew moves back into the living room. Neil is touching the hideous orange and silver tinsel that’s wound its way around their biggest plant – the yucca, moved out from the corner of the room to next to the television. The yucca is not a plant designed to be a Christmas tree, but Andrew thinks it does the job. It also has christmas lights wrapped round it, white, lit up, and despite his best efforts everything clashes with the orange, but it’s worth it for the stupid grin on Neil’s face, and then Neil lifts his head and bursts out laughing – Andrew has taped a photo of Kevin to the top of the Yucca. Neil looks round at him, and back again, taking out his phone and taking a few photos. “Kevin will hate this,” he says merrily, tapping away on his phone.

Andrew’s phone buzzes in his pocket, presumably a notification from the Fox group Neil has just messaged.

Neil puts his phone back in his pocket and reaches for Andrew. “You,” he says, eyes searching over Andrew’s face, looking away from him to take in the lights and looking back again. Andrew lifts hands up to rest them on his hips. “It will take an hour to put these lights out every night.”

Andrew flicks his nose. “Your job.”

“You forgot to stipulate that in the rules.”

“Damn.”

Neil kisses him, hard, warm, ferociously, wraps him in a hug that’s not really like them, only pulls away enough to murmur, “I _missed_ you. You’re absurd. Where did you find _orange tinsel._ ”

Andrew says, “Do you want another card.”

Neil kisses him like he’s a little lost for words, because he breathes a little shakily into Andrew, before pulling away, still that stupid look on his face.

This one is in the pockets of Andrew’s jeans. He didn’t know when he’d need it. He hands it over to Neil, digs his fingers back into his hips.

_Step 4. Yes or no_

Neil chuckles, moves forward and slips the card into Andrew’s back pocket, leaving his hand there. “It’s always a yes with you.”

“Except when it isn’t,” Andrew murmurs, meaning it. He didn’t mean they always have to have sex at Christmas, he meant he always wants them to ask – he meant he always wants them to touch – he meant he always wants Neil, in whatever way he has to give – and he thinks Neil knows that, but –

“I know,” murmurs Neil, kissing him and pulling him backwards, leaving the room lit-up and blinding in their absence.

_Step 5. Make something different for dinner every year._

Neil reads aloud the card in the kitchen as Andrew unpacks groceries. “Well this year’s easy at least,” he says. “You didn’t want this one to be a tradition then?”

“It is a tradition,” says Andrew, passing random things to Neil.

Neil smiles, putting half of them back.

“Well I think you’ll regret that when you eat my amazing cooking,” says Neil.

Andrew hooks a chin over Neil’s shoulder to look at the recipe on his phone. “Yorkshire puddings?” he asks, scrunching up his nose as he looks at a picture of what looks like deflated bread rolls.

Neil nods. “They’re a British thing. Like tiny pancakes.”

“With a roast?”

Neil nods again.

“Huh,” says Andrew. Ok he’s a little intrigued.

They work together for a couple of hours. Andrew’s not totally useless. He can chop vegetables. It’s the creativity that stumps him, the effort of movement and the uncertainty of a dish, the care and precision involved.

Neil’s really got into cooking the last couple of years. Andrew likes watching him, likes hearing him talking a mile a minute about new recipes he wants to try, is more than happy to be bossed around a kitchen, likes that they can watch cooking shows together now, if he’s honest likes being fed.

Andrew grows restless once the chicken and vegetables are in the oven. Neil slides the tray of yorkshire puddings back in and stands back, consulting his phone. “Half an hour.”

Andrew opens the freezer door and contemplates its contents.

Neil closes it firmly. “Half an hour,” he says.

Andrew hums. “Where’s that card gone,” he says, patting Neil’s back pockets.

Neil grins. “In your jeans?”

“Bedroom floor,” Andrew says, nipping Neil’s lip, dragging Neil back to the bedroom.

The yorkshire puddings are amazing. They eat on the living room floor.

_Step 6. Eat dinner on the floor*.  
(*allow sense and old age to edit this rule, but don’t eat at the dining table.)_

Neil holds Andrew’s hand afterwards, knees bent over Andrew’s legs and leaning against the sofa. They have blankets and cushions and cats –

_Step 7. Best estimation of blanket fort_

– and Andrew is pushing his fingers underneath Neil’s sweatpants and rubbing at his ankle, and getting annoyed at the tv.

“Why are all movies awful,” he mutters, flicking through channels.

Neil says, “It’s Christmas Eve.” He takes the remote from Andrew’s hand and finds the sports channel.

Andrew takes the remote back. “No.”

“Hey, do I get to come up with any steps?”

Andrew turns his face to regard Neil. He feels worried suddenly. “Yes, Neil,” he says, feeling oddly formal, handing the remote back.

Neil pushes his nose against Andrew’s and kisses him. “Remind me to tell you later how amazing you are, but it wasn’t a criticism. I just have an idea.” He shuffles forward, finds a blank card and a pen on the coffee table, shuffles back against Andrew. He writes

_Step 7.2. Watch a different christmas movie every year and make fun of it. Then read to each other._

Andrew snatches it out of Neil’s hand the second he’s done. He says, “Is this a way to trick me into watching something terrible.”

Neil smiles. “If you can’t beat ’em,” and sticks on the first movie he finds.

They do make fun of it. Relentlessly. Or at least Neil does. Andrew listens, rubs circles into Neil’s skin, joins in occasionally, watches Neil’s face more than he watches the tv. It’s dark outside now, and they haven’t turned on any lamps, so the only glow is from the hundreds of lights strung up around the apartment.

Andrew can’t believe they’re here. He leans forward to kiss Neil mid-rant, and Neil stops, one hand in the air from gesturing, face frozen in a disbelieving frown. He looks at Andrew.

Andrew shrugs. Leans forward and grabs the next card. Shows it to Neil.

_Step 8. Kiss him._

Neil makes a strange noise, and Andrew darts a look up at him. “Sometimes, I just…” Neil starts, shaking his head. He closes his eyes, moves his head to Andrew’s neck, lets Andrew hold him there. Andrew breathes in the scent of Neil, wonders if he should have added something cinnamonny to their list, but Neil smells amazing on his own, he always has, it’s always drawn Andrew in, something instinctive and addictive and overwhelming. Andrew kisses his hair, feels Neil’s heat against his body, sighs.

Neil reaches for another card and Andrew moves with him so they don’t have to part, and underneath Andrew’s arms, Neil writes

_Step 8.2. Kiss him again._

In bed Neil hands Andrew a book before snuggling under the covers so far only the top of his head pokes out.

Andrew says, “I’ve been trying to get you to read this for years.”

Neil shrugs, pokes his face out and smiles. “It looked christmassy.”

Andrew kisses him, settles against the pillows, lets Neil settle against his chest. “Fine. We’re taking it in turns.” Neil nods, and Andrew reads aloud. _“Once there were four children whose names were Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy._ ”

In the morning they’re woken by demanding beasts, prodding at Andrew’s very core and resulting in feeble swats.

He hears Neil chuckling, pushing out of bed and saying, “Come on you, leave him alone. Are you hungry? Yes I think you’re hungry…” chattering away to the cats, talking nonsense like he always does as he pads out to the kitchen.

Andrew rolls over to grab Neil’s present from under the bed and rolls back to place it on his pillow. Then he snuggles into the smallest ball he can, closes his eyes, and tries to go back to sleep.

But the truth is it’s hard to sleep when there’s such a good distraction nearby.

Neil is longer than Andrew expects, and Andrew picks up the book they’d started drifting off to after a few chapters, and reads the next bit. He hasn’t read this in years, but it was a favourite growing up. It feels almost nice, maybe. Sharing it with Neil.

Andrew hears Neil come back in the room and he lifts his head off the pillow, book falling closed.

Neil has a piece of card in his mouth, and he’s holding a tray – with the most absurd assortment of things on it.

When he’s close enough Andrew takes the card out of his mouth, lets himself be kissed, and shuffles back into the pillows as Neil climbs back into bed. He reads

_Step 9. Eat dumb things for breakfast. In bed. With hot chocolate*.  
(*Neil reserves the right to dip things in tea instead.)_

Andrew looks at the tray. There are marshmalllows, cookies, chips, chocolate sauce, candy bars, whipped cream, frosting – everything dumb he’d put in the cart yesterday, sat next to the two largest mugs they own, thick dark hot chocolate inside and smelling fucking amazing.

Andrew holds his mug under his nose and hums.

“I know the way to my man’s heart,” Neil declares happily, reaching behind him for the present he’d almost sat on. He smirks at Andrew, puts it on the bedside table, and starts dipping things in his hot chocolate.

Andrew picks up the book and turns back a few pages, to read to Neil.

After breakfast, he hands a card to Neil.

_Step 9._

“Woops,” says Neil.

“You wrecked the numbering scheme,” says Andrew. “Christmas is ruined.”

_One present. Just one*.  
(*Don’t get carried away Josten.)_

Neil smiles. “You could have told me. What if I’d bought you a small assortment of kittens.”

“Sir would never forgive you,” Andrew says, lifting her off the ground and holding her to the tray so that she can sniff and lick at thing. King’s already making her way through the bowl of whipped cream. “She hates anything that’s smaller or bigger than she is.”

Neil nods. “She’s difficult to please,” rubbing his hand over her fur.

“She just knows what she likes, what’s wrong with that,” says Andrew, defensive.

Neil grins. “Present time?”

Andrew nods, releases Sir, pushes the tray to the end of the bed to let them investigate to their hearts’ content, and watches a little warily as Neil retrieves his present from the bedside table. He also reaches to the floor and grabs something, chucks it at Andrew.

Andrew accepts the lumpy gift, nods, puts it in his lap and watches Neil unwrapping his present.

“A surprise, he said,” Andrew mutters to Sir, irritated. “What kind of bullshit –”

“Are you talking to the cats again,” says Neil.

“No.”

Neil finally uncovers the box, opens it, and takes out a silver chain. Andrew has no idea what Neil’s expression means. The chain has two small, delicate pendants on it. A fox; a sun.

Andrew has never felt this dumb in his entire life.

He says, a little too loudly, “You don’t have to wear it. You said a surprise. You don’t _like_ anything. You have three outfits. I buy you clothes all the time anyway. I thought that would be boring.” Neil looks at him. “You’re impossible,” concludes Andrew, annoyed.

But Neil is smiling. “Andrew,” he says, voice a little broken.

Andrew leans forward when Neil holds the necklace to him and Andrew clasps it around the back of his neck. Andrew whispers into Neil’s ear, “The sun… it’s –”

“I know,” Neil whispers back, kisses his ear.

Andrew says, “It’s girly.”

“No it’s not.”

“It’s pretty gay.”

“That’s ok.”

“I wanted… I thought you’d…”

“I do. I know. I do. I _know,_ Andrew.” Neil grabs Andrew round the middle and pulls him forward, pushes their faces together in a messy kiss, deliberately smears a little on his cheek.

Andrew puts up with this for ten seconds, then pushes his face away with his hand. “I hate you,” he says loudly.

Neil grins. “Samesies.”

Andrew nods, satisfied, and retrieves his own present. He unwraps it, aware Neil’s hand is at his collarbone, smiles a little, pleased, until he brings out the handful of material –

“Josten.”

“What?”

“Is this a Christmas present for me, or you?”

“A little of column A, a little of column –”

“Shut up.”

Andrew storms into the en-suite clutching his present and gets changed. When he returns Neil is leaning back against the pillow, still touching his necklace with one hand and stroking as many cats as he can with the other.

Andrew says, “I hate you.”

Neil sits up. “Oh my god.”

Andrew cannot believe he is actually _wearing_ this fucking monstrosity.

“Wait.” Neil reaches for his phone.

“No.”

“I have to take a photo.”

Neil takes a photo.

Andrew says, “I fucking hate you.”

“Yeh yeh, same.”

“Can I take it off now.”

“Well that would just be rude, wouldn’t it? Do you want me to think you don’t like your present?”

Andrew grunts, doesn’t want to say that actually the fox onesie is incredibly soft, and he feels like he’s been swallowed by a blanket, and if it wasn’t that it was a _fox_ and _incredibly orange_ and obviously _makes_ _Neil really happy_ Andrew might like it.

He gets back into bed, crosses his arms.

Neil kisses his nose. “Might make doing stuff a little hard,” he admits, “but I think we can find ways around that.”

“Like replacing you with someone else,” suggests Andrew, pulling him back for another kiss.

“Like that,” Neil agrees, pulling the covers over their heads.

A couple of hours later, they’re trading lazy kisses, passing _The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe_ back and forth, trading cats, getting up to piss, to shower, to get food, always returning to bed afterwards, to each other, to their own thing.

Neil says, “Did I mention you’re amazing.”

“No,” huffs Andrew, although it’s not true.

Neil smiles. “Thank you.”

Andrew kisses him. “You’re welcome.”

_Step 10. Tell Neil he’s impossible._

_Step 10.2. I know I am but what are you._

_Step 10.3. Did you just ruin the moment._

_Step 10.4. New tradition. Ruin the moment. And then tell him you can’t believe he’s yours._

**Author's Note:**

> this is *extremely* unedited. i usually do at least one pass through of everything i write and i HAVEN'T. so maybe it shows. but this is just for fun and i hope you enjoyed it anyway, they're so in love it kills me xxx


End file.
